The Fox & Hound
by bonnief0xx
Summary: Luck is not a method of survival. Death will snap at your heels until the day you lose your footing; become more wary with every step.


Hello! I would say this is more of a spinoff using my own characters than it is truly a GOT Fanfiction, but I have used the world (perhaps somewhat inaccurately) that George R. R. Martin created to let my own story unfold. I will mention characters from GOT as a nod to the original books, but as of yet I can't see them becoming a part of the plot as I have come up with my own Lords, Ladies and Houses to entertain you. This is my first time publishing any of my writing, so I'm happy to recieve praise and critism alike - I'm sure all of it will help me improve and hopefully put out something worth reading one day. Anyway, this is all just for fun. Be kind and enjoy!

xreveriex

Slavers Bay was a place of heathens, beggars and thieves. It was a city ruled by corruption and greed and had been contently run that way since before the great Khalissi had risen from the ashes with her dragons and army of unsullied marching forth and storming the streets speaking of hope and harmony. There was no place in this side of the world for a just system or fair trade. You had a choice. Become the butcher or live as meat.

So all of its inhabitants scraped amongst themselves for a better position in the bay - a bigger pot of gold; a prettier slave; a stronger hound to lead their hunt. It was an endless cycle that spat out the weak and yet continued to feed the hungry. Opportunities to gain a name for yourself arose every day and no one seemed to give up or turn them down.

These types of opportunities are how a lowly man of the Bay ended up on the bidding stand with a young girl chained at his feet. Her wrists, ankles and mouth were all bound tight - an earlier struggle that had cost him an eye. She was no slave, all could see that. Her eyes had a fire that made even the burliest of men raise an eyebrow at her tremendous spirit. No slave had fire behind their eyes; after being bought or born into the life they faded to grey, a final submission to the masters that had stripped them of the joys of living. She was also not of royal blood - she was of no value of anyone in the audience seeking revenge against a family crest across the narrow sea. A mange of hair matted and tangled around paled, dirt-smeared cheeks. It was dark, like the black skies above Mereen that fell across the sleeping City in the winter. Her eyes were an ashen blue, reflecting the harsh sun defiantly back across the strip of land before her. So all stood staring at a young, nameless girl at Slaver's Bay, curious as to where this young heap of fury had come from.

"Shapeshifter." The beggar cried to the crowd, kicking the girl forward on the stage. "I swear it by the old Gods and the new. This mite is a Shapeshifter!"

A pause fell across the crowd for a moment, each member of the audience giving eachother skeptical looks before shaking heads with their companions. Shapeshifters were of folklore legends. None had been sighted or captured in hundreds of years and not a single person in Slaver's Bay was going to believe this crazy old fool.

"Prove it." A stranger called from the crowd, arms folded with a disapproving frown on his withered face.

The lowly beggar kicked the girl sharply in the ribs. "No point hiding it now, mite. Show them what you are." After a sharp intake of breath the girls lips pulled back into a snarl, disdain etched across her face as she shrugged up into a kneeling position with her back to the beggar. She rolled her eyes for good measure and awaited her fate. The beggar looked desperately from the girl at his feet to the silent crowd that had no time for time wasters.

"The old fools lost his mind! That girl is nothing more than a street whore. Not worth a dime!" The same stranger piped up again, anger creeping into his voice. They were all here to turn a coin into a profit, not wait for the sun to set hoping for a girl in chains to magically transform into a great beast before their eyes.

"I have lost _nothing_!" The beggar barked back at the man, grabbing the girl by the collar and tossing her to the floor in the middle of the crowd. "This mongrel has been in the City for _weeks_. Has no one else noticed the livestock dying, the mutts on the streets turning up in mangled _corpses_ at our doors. I saw this girl with a ram between her teeth. No, her _fangs._ She is no lowly street whore and you're all fools for mistaking her for one!" The man was outraged at the disbelief offered to him. He knows what he saw and would be told no different. The audience only got more skeptical as his rambling became more desperate. "If not a Shapeshifter," he paused, clearly coming up with a new angle to sway the crowd, "then the girl is a witch. I have seen the evil behind her eyes. If you care for your children, take her, chain her, use her in your warfare, but do not let her roam the lands killing the innocent."

Laughter had begun to echo across the Bay now, men and women alike all waving away the words the man offered whilst they tried to catch their breath. The over watcher of the Bay nodded to his guards with a final chuckle. "Crazy old fool." He muttered as the guards swarmed the stage and got ahold of the laughing stock and his _deadly shifter.._.

"You'll all regret this!" It seems the man was not done with his show, now bright red in the face as he struggled against the guards. "Heed my warning, you fools! You're lucky I don't let the bitch loose right here, she'd tear you all limb from li-!"

The sound of wood against skull rang out across the bay as the now unconscious slaver crumpled to the fall. The guard that issued the blow chuckled to himself as the crowd cheered; it was always entertaining when one of the drunkards from the streets managed to get the spotlight - no doubt they would all laugh and reenact his great speech over their wine and bread later that evening. Although not worried about the girl, he noticed she walked with an almost regimented manner as he took them both away, both following his lead and yet taut for opportunity to bolt - her eyes roamed the great plains beyond the low walls of the bay desperately, searching for something in that daunting vast of nothingness.

" _Shapeshifter.._ " He murmured in disbelief, shaking his head as he shackled them both and left them chained to the back of his wagon. A night in the cells would make this old beggar think twice before attempting to make a mockery of the trade.

A fist slammed on a great oak table, rattling the fine cutlery that bordered the feast laid across it.

"My dire wolf killed _nothing_ , Lord Archyr." Karn Snow spat across the table, outraged at the accusations of his beloved companion. Although nothing more than a young man at the moment, Karn's short life had weathered his already unforgiving expression and had sharpened the previous ring of authority to his tone - an authority that had no place in the House of a Lord. Lord Archyr was almost amused by the icy reception he was recieving from his own guest, but entertaining that amusement would allow it to continue, which simply would not do.

"If you so much as lay a finger on this table again," he paused, raising one unkempt eyebrow as he delicately sliced the meat on his plate, "or anything in this room for that matter - I will cut off your hand with my steak knife and plate it before you as your last meal. Do you understand me, Snow?" He did not raise his voice, or even lift a finger for that matter, but the atmosphere in the room turned very bleak for young Karn in that moment. Some men do not need to intimidate to be frightening - they simply _are_.

"Yes, My Lord." Karn recomposed rather quickly after that, running a hand through a tangle of russet brown hair. "I understand your concerns with Silver, but she has not killed your livestock, nor your hounds." Clearing his throat for good manner, he stood up a little straighter and locked eyes with the Lord once more. "You cannot kill her for a crime she did not commit."

"I can kill whomever and whatever I like. Including your mongrel." Lord Archyr was testing him now, his cool exterior everlasting as he considered whether to let Snow and his dear Silver live. Perhaps he could keep the beast for himself, dire wolves make for an intimidating pet - or a new mount for his wall.

Yes, that would be a fine piece to add to his growing collection of slain beasts. Without any further delay he locked eyes with Karn, the faintest hint of a sneer curling at his lips. "I believe your wolf is responsible for terrorising my farmers and livestock, Karn Snow. That reign of terror has now come to an end, I will keep possession of your wolf and use her as I see fit. You will take your bags-" he paused, looking his guest up and down disdainfully, "- _bag_ , and leave the bay at once. If I see or hear of your return, I will deliver on my earlier promise about your last meal. Now, if you would kindly fuck off, I have street whores awaiting."

All rose from the dining table as the guards grappled hold of Karn. A fire burned beneath his skin, white hot and pricking the bloodstream into overdrive. He shouldered the guard away from him and unsheathed a fine Valerian dagger, launching it across the room at Lord Archyr. The sound of metal cutting through the air fell short as it hit the door frame inches from the man's head. Archyr raised that same eyebrow once more and plucked the dagger from the door frame, turning slowly to face his attacker. The hearth in the corner seemed to hiss at Karn mockingly as he was forced to his knees; his otherwise weather-beaten face growing pale as the consequences of such an act sank deeper into his already drowning thoughts.

" _Oh, my boy. You have just sentenced yourself to death..._ " Archyr uttered, slowly running the blade across the tip of his finger. The guards moved quickly, shackles clamped tightly on every limb of Karn as his body began to come to life again in panic. What good it did him is something else entirely.

Lord Archyr gave him a soft wave as he was dragged from the room, before returning his attention to the steady stream of red that ran across his fingers, collecting into a small pool in his palm - he watched it carefully for a while, envisioning the morning execution as silence stretched out across the room. If he closed his eyes, he could faintly hear Karn Snow screaming hopeless obscenities on the way to the dungeon. _Good luck to him_ , thought the Lord. _The others loved a boy who screamed._


End file.
